


Embrace the World in Gray (The La Cosetta Nostra remix)

by melannen



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Black Markets, Dad Sweaters, Gen, Pre-Canon, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4181946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melannen/pseuds/melannen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alison may run a thingy mafia, but she's not sure where the Marshall got the idea that it qualified her to negotiate with a <i>mafia</i> mafia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embrace the World in Gray (The La Cosetta Nostra remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Cards And Flowers On Your Window](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2556386) by [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic). 



The first time Marshall Pentecost came to her little office and cleared his throat, Alison mostly just thought he looked tired. She'd felt really honored when she first realized she'd been added to the short list of people who were allowed to see him tired, but by now it just made her sad. Sad that he had so few people he could show that to. And a little bit jealous of the young techs and pilot candidates who still got to believe that he was untouchable. Being able to _see_ that he was two steps beyond exhausted didn't grant you the privilege of _doing anything_ about it.

So instead she just offered him a seat and asked how she could help him.

"I understand, Technician Choi," he said, in that adorably old-fashioned way of his, "that you have methods of acquiring things that are... needed."

"More thingies than proper things, usually, Marshall," she said. "But I've been cultivating resources. Did you need something?" He’d never officially acknowledged that he was aware of her little under-the-table activities, but she’d known he had to know. Partly because he knew everything. Partly because of that time last year where they didn’t get any scheduled supplies from headquarters for two weeks and by the end of it the kitchens were living off of rice and slightly-old fruit she’d finagled out of one of her contacts in exchange for his pick of Mako’s private spare parts collection (which she’d negotiated at the cost of six vintage wool sweaters for Mako’s sweater collection.)

"I need many things, Technician," the Marshall said. "They've cut our funding."

Alison winced shook her head. They'd all known cuts were coming, again, for the third year in a row. They'd all known the Marshall was fighting for them as hard as he could, too. For the fifth year in a row. "How bad is it this time, sir?"

He smiled with no humor in it. "I think you may have misunderstood me, Technician. They've cut _all_ of our funding."

" _What_?" she said. "They can't do that! That's-- they really did?"

"They have generously agreed to allow the PPDC to continue operations, in a reduced form," he said. "By which I mean we they will give us enough funding to make Striker Eureka operational before they shut down Sydney, after which we may keep one Shatterdome, and all currently operational equipment and supplies, as long as we secure alternative sources of funding for daily operations."

Alison thought about how much it cost just to _run_ Crimson Typhoon, much less to repair it, or to build the new Jaegers they all knew they desperately needed. "How do they expect us to do that? Write grants for every monkey wrench?"

"The PPDC is not without ongoing resources, even now," Pentecost said. "I was wondering if any of your connections would be willing to assist me in turning those resources into cash."

"Marshall, I trade cigarettes for chocolate, mostly. I know people on base like to call this the "thingy mafia" but it's very different from the _mafia_ mafia."

"Acknowledged." He looked over her head. "That said, I suspect that you could contact a man who goes by Hannibal Chau if you had a very good reason."

She gave herself away by reacting to that, so there was no choice but to go all in. "I might know some people who know some people," she agreed. "Do I have a very good reason?"

"We worked with him on some small things when the PPDC was first getting established," Pentecost said. "Then his business turned more directly criminal and we stopped. But he has access to kind of money we need and we have something he wants."

"Kaiju," Alison said. Chau dealt in black-market kaiju parts.

" _Dead_ kaiju that haven't been hit with an h-bomb," Pentcost said. "If the PPDC goes away, so does his only supply of that. I think he'll be amenable."

"But why _me_ , Marshall?"

"I need someone who has the skills, who is reliable, who I can spare from other work, and who can preserve a certain level of surface deniability about this being an official PPDC operation," Pentecost said. "If you have a better recommendation, do suggest one."

She couldn't, really. The Hong Kong 'dome was already at well below a skeleton crew, and everyone who was still there was desperately needed. Alison herself helped the refit crews when they had work for her, but she'd been theoretically let go in the first round of cuts, and they were both living on Tendo's salary, which had been dropping every year. She kept busy the rest of the time on scrounging, part of a long tradition of military spouses making do and keeping armies running, and she'd been proud of that, and how good she was at it: she'd learned how to scrounge at her father's knee, on Air Force bases around the world. So she couldn't exactly say no to the Marshall, no matter how terrifying his request was.

And it was kind of terrifying.

She'd made sure he gave her enough negotiating power to get something done, and in return he'd asked for results as soon as possible, which was probably just as well, or she'd have more time to panic. At least he only wanted her to do preliminary work and set up a meeting; an actual agreement would have to have Pentecost’s own handshake on it.

The next morning she left a note for Tendo saying she was out foraging for the day. He'd been working double shifts in LOCCENT - like most of the J-Techs since the last round of cuts but one - and it felt like she hardly saw him anymore except when she stopped in while he was working. He'd probably come by to grab a nap while she was gone, though, and he wouldn't consider it anything out of the ordinary for her to be in the city.

It was going to be mostly an ordinary day. She did know people who knew people, but that meant the best way to start was with her usual contacts.

Except today she started with a visit to Mako down in the repair bay, where they were currently working on repairs to Cherno. It was loud and there was a possibly excessive amount of fire, as usual. As soon as she saw Alison, Mako offered her a bright smile and ushered over to a quiet corner. "What do you need?" she asked.

"I need to call in that favor you owe me," Alison said. "I need a pair of your heavy-duty noise cancellation headphones."

Mako raised her eyebrows, but said, "Sure. We have more in storage than we have people to wear them, these days." She ushered another tech over and Alison was soon on her way to her next stop: K-Science. 

She happened to know that at that hour of the morning, Newton would still be in bed, which meant she had a reasonable chance of catching Dr. Gottlieb awake and in a tractable mood.

"Ah, Dr. Choi," he said when he saw her, spinning away from his blackboard. "What has inspired this always-welcome visit?"

"I got your headphones," she told him, holding them up, "But I'll need something in exchange."

His hand twitched like he wasn't quite sure what he was willing to do in response. He'd been begging her, loudly, in Newt's hearing, for a pair of them, for years. Alison was fairly sure he wouldn't actually use them, or she'd have acquired them for him long ago - if he'd really wanted them he could have just asked Mako himself, she had a soft spot for him. But now that she had brought him a pair, pride wouldn't let him turn them down.

"And what do you ask as payment for such a prize, Dr. Choi?"

"I need some Kaiju bits. Preferably in a jar or something so they won't make a mess."

He raised his eyebrows. "Any particular kaiju bits?"

"Something reasonably gross-looking. And small enough to carry."

"Simple enough," he said, and limped over to Newt's side of the room to rummage in a cabinet. He brought her a dusty pint jar with a wired-on glass lid, full of a bluish-colored fluid in which were floating pieces of something that she couldn't identify, but had a lot of tubes.

"Perfect," she said, and held out a hand. "Newt won't miss it?

Dr. Gottleib spat out a "Hah!" "He hasn't been in that cupboard for months," he said. "Possibly because that cupboard's meant to be the cleaning supplies. If he does miss it, I will ensure the blame falls in the proper direction, which is to say, his execrable habits." He paused, and pulled it back. "Why are you acquiring Kaiju parts? Are you sure that's a wise idea, in your condition?"

Alison glanced down at her stomach. She hadn't told anyone but Tendo that she was pregnant yet- it was early days, and she already had enough kaiju exposure that it was automatically a high-risk pregnancy with a good chance of early miscarriage- but Hermann had figured it out anyway. He had a habit of noticing things. "I just need it as a sample," she said. "Promise of goods on offer. I won't even open the jar."

He harrumphed, but handed it to her. "See that you don't," he said. "The preserving fluid has a ph around 13; it'll burn through anything short of glass."

"You're a lifesaver, Dr. Gottlieb," she said, and then as she left, she had a thought. "Actually, could you do me another favor? I'd have to owe you one." She usually made sure she was the one favors were owed _to_ , but if there was any time to burn all her credit, it was now.

"What sort of favor?" he asked carefully.

"I need some numbers," she said. "Specifically, I need an estimate for the current value of the black-market kaiju trade. And projections for what will happen to it if the PPDC is entirely decommissioned in favor of the Wall. I know it's not exactly your field but I'm not sure where else to ask."

"Not my field!" he said. "Making projections based on chaotic data is exactly my field. If I can predict when an interdimensional portal will open under the sea, a little economics is a piece of cake. How soon?"

"As soon as possible?"

"Getting the data will be the time-consuming part," he said. "But I can use a break from that mess anyway," he waved at the board. "Tomorrow, this time?"

"That would be _fabulous_ ," she told him fervently.

It was easy to forget, when the two of them had spent the past several years doing nothing but bickering and failing to solve insoluble problems, but Dr. Gottlieb and Newt were both really very intelligent, even by the somewhat inflated standards of a Shatterdome. Especially Dr. Gottlieb, who was a military brat just as much as she was, and had probably been following the PPDC's political fortunes even more closely.

It was possible that, just from those two requests, he knew exactly what she was going to be doing today, and why.

God, she thought, as she packed a bag for a trip into the city, the jar of kaiju carefully nestled in soft cloth at the bottom, how she wished _she_ knew what she was doing today.

Actually, the first part of the day's trading was soothingly familiar, even as it had changed over the years: she'd started just getting small luxuries for herself and Tendo, then for others on base as word spread, then she'd occasionally helped "expedite" parts and equipment, as getting such things from the PPDC general supply got slower and more difficult. These days, she was just as often trading equipment for basic supplies, as the staff cuts meant they had more things than people.

Some of it was fairly simple, though. Some of the J-Techs didn't seem to realize that there were still shops in the city - or possibly didn't realize that it was possible to leave the tech levels of the shatterdome - and would beg her for stuff she could buy for standard currency at the big discount shop in Kowloon. She took care of that first, then went to a shop where she knew the proprietor would change various odds and ends she'd been given in trade into cash, and give her extra because he still sold to PPDC groupies who liked the provenance.

After that she got herself some lunch at a little tea shop, and took stock. There were still plenty of items on her list - wool yarn for the knitters, surprisingly hard to find these days, but she knew an old lady who frogged secondhand sweaters for fun; a few mechanical thingies various techs had requested, that hadn't been produced for years, but you could still get if you knew which junkyards to check (yes, she had a Ph.D. in mechanical engineering, she knew what they were, but 'thingies' was generally a more useful description, and it made sellers underestimate her.) None of the big used-and-stolen-goods markets were open today, though, and it was usually worth checking there first for a lot of her list. And then there was the Kaidonovskys' standing order for certain "marriage aid" novelties.

She knew where to get those, too. Even the more exotic ones. There was a certain very small traditional store that always had them in stock. She tried to ration it out, because the Kaidonovskys were one of her best sources of barter goods, and useful people to owe you favors, and she didn't want to give the impression it was too easy to get the stuff - it wasn't; the man who ran the shop was deeper into the really scary parts of the black market than anyone else she dealt with, and she didn’t like dealing there if she could help it.

Which meant he was the person she needed to speak to on the Marshall's errand, too. She sighed, and looked at her tea, and sucked it up, and went.

Harry Lee’s shop was small and dark and cramped without actually achieving “interesting”. She noted the pictogram by the door that identified him as a seller of high-end black market kaiju-based “traditional” medicines, and then forced herself to smile pleasantly as he looked up and greeted her.

“Ah, Mrs. Choi! Here for your usual? The hubby not bored yet?”

“I would like my usual, yes,” she told him, and hoisted her backpack up onto the counter. There was no point in explaining to him that she was brokering for a friend. “Only throw in something extra-special this time. Surprise me.” She might need extra Kaidonovsky favors before this was over.

“Oh, I got something good this time, real special,” he said. “But it’ll cost you.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “Also, I’d like you to help me set up a meeting with Hannibal Chau.”

“Hannibal Chau? What kinda name is that?”

She _looked_ at him.

“Ok, fine, maybe I’ve met the guy, but believe me, you don’t want to, okay? If you want Kaiju medicine I got kaiju medicine. Here,” he pulled a jar out from under the counter. “Powdered kaiju penis bone, right from Leatherback, your man’s guaranteed to go all night. I was going to offer you some anyway.”

Alison recoiled reflexively. “No thanks. What do I want with more kaiju bits? Besides, whoever sold you that lied to you, Leatherback was female, more-or-less, no baculum.”

He frowned at her, “Yeah, sure, you sexing Kaiju now? Then what do you want with Chau? Kaiju’s all he sells these days.”

“I want to offer him a deal,” she said.

Harry laughed. “You going to offer _him_ dirty underpants?”

“Those were worn by real Jaeger pilots, direct from the Shatterdome,” she said with dignity. “You don’t want ‘em, maybe, but find the right buyer and they’re worth plenty.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” said Harry. “I promise you Chau isn’t the right buyer.”

“Anyway, I can get that straight from the Shatterdome, you don’t think I can get other stuff?” She pulled the jar of blue tube-y thing out of its wrappings. It glistened in the low light. Possibly twitched. Now it was Harry’s turn to recoil.

“What the hell _is_ that?” he asked.

“Kaiju spleen,” she bullshitted merrily. “Sampled right after death. So fresh it’s still alive. What, never been closer to a real kaiju than that skeleton out there? Tsk.”

He looked at her and away. “You mean you really have access to the ‘dome?”

“You think I was lying about _that_ all this time? My husband’s a department head. I have access to _everything_ , and where I don’t, people owe me favors. I want a meeting with Hannibal Chau.”

He shook his head, but didn’t take his eyes off the jar of kaiju. “Here,” he said, and handed her a card. “Tomorrow. Follow the instructions. I’ll send the word along. If you really have access to fresh kaiju he’ll talk to you.”

“Thank you,” she said, tucked the card into a pocket, and made ready to go.

“Hey,” he said, stopping her as she was re-wrapping the jar. “If you live at the ‘dome— those Ranger underpants were real? They still for sale?”

“Sorry,” she said insincerely as she tucked them more closely around the jar and zipped up the backpack. “You missed your chance on that one.”

She rode the adrenaline high from that until she’d finished nearly her whole shopping list in late afternoon, and didn’t get back to the ‘dome until after dinner. Before she headed home, she got an extra serving of takeout and a pile of fried appetizers and stopped to deliver them to Tendo and LOCCENT before they got cold.

“You are perfect in every way,” Tendo told her when he smelled it, and pulled her into a hug. 

She kissed him on the tip of the nose and said, “Careful of the backpack, fragile goods.”

“I saw that you were in town today,” he agreed. “Anything exciting?”

She waggled a hand. “Tell you later,” she said, right before she got swarmed by grateful-but-hungry techs anxious for their share of the appetizers.

After that she went back to their rooms, thinking she’d make plans for the meeting tomorrow and then start repackaging her day’s foraging, but instead fell asleep over her laptop almost immediately. Lately she’d been getting tired a lot sooner than usual, and it would hit her all at once. She was ready for that part of the process to be done: she didn’t have _time_ to sleep fourteen hours a day.

She was woken the next morning after only about ten hours by Tendo coming through for a shower before a nap. “Sorry,” he said when he saw her sit up, and yawned, “I was trying not to wake you.”

She shook the last threads of sleep out of her head. “No worries, I needed to be up anyway, places to go. Tell you what, I’ll cede you the bed if I can have the shower.”

“Deal,” he said, gazing at the bed with a desire that could have made her jealous if she wasn’t empathizing with it so strongly.

Even so they managed a few long touches as they crossed paths in the tiny apartment, and she held on to that warmth as she set out for a day of meeting with extremely scary mob bosses.

First stop: Hermann. She gave him back the jar of kaiju.

“I didn’t need it back,” he said, “I promise you Newt will never know he didn’t misplace it himself.”

“Yeah, but I only needed it as a sample,” she said, “and I’ve realized I don’t actually want it anywhere near me if I don’t need it.”

“Clever woman,” he said, and tucked it back behind the cleaning supplies. “Now, about those numbers you asked for.”

He’d very carefully simplified them without dumbing them down, a skill she had only slowly watched him develop over his years with the PPDC. He'd also added some extras she hadn't asked for that made it clear he had at least an approximate idea of what she was doing. She was somewhat surprised to see that the Marshall’s proposal was eminently reasonable - Chau was making enough money selling kaiju medicine to the gullible that he could fund all of their current operations and still make a better profit than he would if they stopped killing kaiju for him. It’d be shoestring funding, probably, but at least enough to feed everybody and keep the ‘dome and the Jaegers they had running, and if they were lucky, enough to finish GD’s refit. But she could see a lot more scrounging in her future if this worked.

“Thank you,” she told Hermann, “this puts me in a much better starting position.”

He flattened his lips at her it what might have been a poor attempt to smile. She got the distinct impression that if he was the sort of person to believe in luck, he’d be offering her some, but instead he just told her not do to anything _too_ stupid, no matter what the payoff was.

With that admonishment echoing in her mind, next she knocked on the Kaidonovskys’ door. Most of the pilots kept open doors - after awhile their concepts of privacy got pretty skewed - but you _always_ knocked on the Kaidonovskys’ even if it was open, because otherwise you might see something you could never unsee.

“We’re suitable for company,” one of them called, and Alison ducked in. They were sitting crosslegged on the carpet across a low table from each other, fully dressed, with no evidence of what they’d been doing. Armwrestling? she thought, and then decided better not knowing.

“I got some other stuff you wanted,” she said, and held up the bagful from Harry Lee’s.

Alexis broke out into a broad smile. “Excellent. It’s been awhile. You want more dirty laundry in exchange?”

She shrugged. “If you’ve got some.” She’d feel guilty about selling the Kaidonovskys’ used underpants to Jaeger groupies, but she did make a LOT of money on it, even in these sad days. Besides, it had been Sasha’s idea in the first place. And she was pretty sure they got off on the idea. So she didn’t really feel bad about it at all. The best deals were ones where everybody went away happy and she still made a nice cut.

But. “Actually,” she said, “This time I’d like to take it out as a favor. I’m meeting with someone kind of, criminal, today, and I’d like a bodyguard. I don’t think it’ll be dangerous outright but I think it would be helpful if I brought someone who could do menacing.”

They nodded. “We can do that.”

“Without completely overshadowing me.”

“Ah, you want a scary _girl_ bodyguard.”

“Exactly.”

“Can do. There is nothing else happening, eh? It will be fun, to menace a little.”

That left her breathing a little easier. There was nothing like a Kaidonovsky at your back to make you feel safe, even if realistically it just increased the chances of mayhem happening. The smarter choice would’ve been Mako - nobody was better at “tiny but scary as fuck” - but she was too busy these days to be spared for anything. Besides, Alison thought, the Marshall had kept her out of this for a reason.

“We are going to talk to Hannibal Chau, da?” Kaidonovsky asked Alison as their cab approached the address on the card. “The Marshall ask you to set it up?”

“You knew?” Alison said with a crashing sense of relief. Nothing had been announced in the ‘dome, or hit the public news yet, about the budget agreement, but maybe he’d been passing the word around.

“No,” she shook her head. “But we all knew he was thinking about it, if we lost enough funding. It would happen sooner or later. Good choice, asking you to set it rolling.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, even if I’d rather he hadn’t,” Alison said dryly.

“It’s what you get when you’re good at your job, yes? More job. If my husband and I weren’t very good at ours, would not still be doing it.”

Yes, because they’d be _dead_. Alison turned to glare at her, and she grinned back. “I think we have arrived,” she said.

Chau’s place was all gold, glass, and accent lighting. It was a showroom, she realized after a moment: the sort of place you’d go to buy a watch worth a year’s wages. She dimly remembered that there had been a lot of places like that in Kong Kong once, back before everybody with money to spare had evacuated inland. Maybe Chau had salvaged his fittings from one of them. Maybe this _was_ one of them, displaced whole by Reckoner’s attack.

Menacing-looking minions were slowly gathering around them. She glanced over her shoulder at her Kaidonovsky to make sure she was still more menacing. She shoved her hands deeper into her fur-lined coat and smirked at Alison. Yep. Still scarier than any of Chau’s people. Plus anyone more than vaguely aware of the PPDC would recognize her as a pilot, which only made her scarier to people who hadn’t seen her stuff fifteen doughnuts in her mouth on a bet and then spray them all over the room laughing when somebody made a bad pun.

And then Chau was there, sweeping in on a cloud of musk and bling. “Mrs. Alison Choi,” he said, looking her up and down. “The Shatterdome’s black marketeer. With a Ranger as a bodyguard. I’m honored.”

“I doubt I’m the ‘dome’s only black marketeer,” she said, trying for a light tone. Besides, she was hardly a black marketeer. Most of what she did was gray market, at worst. And it wasn’t like she traded in bulk. Usually. Except when a supply shipment went terribly wrong or Mako was putting in unapproved modifications or something. Which admittedly had happened more and more often lately.

“No? You haven’t driven all the competition out yet?”

She started to reply, and paused. Actually, there’d been a few other people doing similar stuff before - she’d gone to a few of them when she and Tendo first came to Hong Kong, before she knew where all the bodies were buried - but nobody had mentioned going to anyone else for awhile. She’d just figured it was because she was faster and better. Well then.

“What could the feared and famous Mrs. Alison Choi want with _me_?” Chau mused. “Surely the PPDC doesn’t need _more_ Kaiju.”

“Oh, no,” Alison said. “Kaiju, we have plenty of. It’s everything else we’re running low on, as you may have heard. I was thinking that you might be able to help us trade the one for the other, actually. In bulk.”

Chau looked at her, and then abruptly said, “Out,” with a wave of his hands, and all but two of his minions disappeared somewhere. Kaidonovsky crossed her arms and glared and the remaining two. Chau made two chairs appear from the side of one of the glittering kiosks and gestured her to sit down. The room immediately felt both a hell of a lot smaller and a hell of a lot larger. She sat down.

“I heard,” Chau said, “That you’d been having funding issues.”

“Mr. Chau, I’m not interested in playing games,” she replied. “As you probably already know, the PPDC will soon be no longer receiving working funds from any world government. They have decided to commit all of their resources to the Wall. We will have enough funds for an orderly shut-down of the rest of the Shatterdomes, and we will be allowed to keep Kong Kong operational. But only if we find an alternate source of funding for day-to-day expenses. I heard it suggested that you were a man with a soft heart for a good cause.”

“And so Mrs. Choi has come to me to plead for donations?” he said derisively.

“I have Marshall Pentecost’s full faith and authorization,” she said, and snapped her fingers. Kaidonovsky brought her the briefcase she’d set down, and Alison pulled out the signed paper from the Marshall. Chau glanced at it and then tossed in away.

“You don’t want kaiju,” he said.

“No. We want money. We’re offering you first access to any Kaiju killed by PPDC personnel, in exchange for operating capital.”

“How much are we talking?”

She gave him a number that at the same time sounded utterly unreasonable, and yet, with Dr. Gottleib’s numbers in the back of her mind, absurdly low.

He laughed in her face. “You think I have that kind of money to spend on charity, lady?”

She gave him another one of Gottleib’s numbers. He tapped one finger, heavy gold rings catching the light.

“Sure,” he answered. “And that’s what I’m making now, without any ‘authorization’ from you people. Still not seeing that you’re offering me anything worth those kinds of numbers.”

“Of course,” she added, “You’re right. It would only be an act of charity. You can always let the PPDC fade away. Everyone else is willing. I’m sure the Wall will work perfectly well, all the Kaiju alive and happy in their own little zoo. Maybe you can switch to giving helicopter tours of the Pacific beaches. I could move inland and raise my kid somewhere with a nice yard. Get a dog.”

“You ain’t got a kid, Choi, don’t lay it on too thick.”

She sat still and radiated feminine mystery at him as hard as she could. He squinted at her. Okay maybe she didn’t quite have the hang of using the glow yet.

“Okay,” he said. “Maybe you got me. Maybe I’m not stupid enough to think the Wall will work for one sad second once a Kaiju decides to go through it. Maybe I do want to still see you idiots out there smacking those things around. But this? This ain’t a business proposition, it’s a suicide pact. I got overhead. I got appearances to keep up. I can’t just throw all of my profit at a lost cause, got it?”

She reached into the briefcase and pulled out another sheet of Gottleib’s numbers. “Right now,” she said, “your people are getting there late, and picking over what’s left, after everyone else has had a go and decay has started. I’m talking ride-alongs for your people. Full access to live LOCCENT data. PPDC transport, equipment, and escorts. Your pick of salvage, after K-Science has dibs, of course, but to be honest our science staff has been cut so far they don’t have time to analyze the samples they’ve already got, so I doubt you’ll find that a significant drain.”

“Hah,” he said. “And what about everybody else’s scientists?”

“Mr. Chau,” she said tiredly, “if they want kaiju samples, they can pay to kill ‘em.” Even five years ago she’d have considered it morally and ethically indefensible to put any kaiju tissue outside the reach of science. Extraterrestrial life! The irreplaceable knowledge held in each cell! Now she was just tired. She slid him the page of Gottleib’s projections. “I took the liberty of having one of our top people do some financial projections,” she said. “I think you’ll find that even with significant contributions to the PPDC, you’ll still be getting an advantage out of the deal.”

This paper he looked at carefully and kept at hand when he was done. “That’s a pretty story, Mrs. Choi. But this paper’s got a lot more kaiju passing through my hands than any amount of ride-alongs could account for.”

“The man who did those projections is also predicting that kaiju attacks will be increasing in frequency and severity at an accelerating rate,” she said. “Assume we’ll be seeing category threes once a month, or more, within the year.”

“Gottlieb,” he said.

She tilted her head.

“My people have been seeing the same patterns,” he admitted. “They won’t come out and say it in so many words.”

“You must have good people, if they’re getting results like Dr. Gottlieb’s,” she said. “You think they’re right.”

His turn for a barely-there nod.

“I happen to think that if we let it go that far, humanity is doomed. I happened to think that the PPDC is our best chance of stopping it forever.” She shrugged. “I thought you might agree.”

“You want me to fund you people so you can get rid of the kaiju once and for all?” he said. “Put myself out of business.”

Alison stood up. “If you’d rather protect your profits and see humanity destroyed,” she said, “I’ll go.”

He stabbed a finger at the chair. “Sit down.”

She leaned on the back of it.

He sighed. “Sit back down, please, Mrs. Choi. I’ll deal.”

“Oh, excellent,” she said, and slipped back into the chair, breathing out for what seemed the first time in hours. “I’m not here to haggle over details,” she said. “The Marshall wants to finalize everything in person. We’d like you to agree to a meeting. This is the Marshall’s private line; use this number.”

He took the card she offered.

“I understand you’re a busy man,” she added, “But as soon as possible, please, or we’ll have to start looking at sources other than our first choice. And you’ll have to make your own arrangements to come to the Shatterdome, of course.”

“You want me to come to the Shatterdome?” he raised his eyebrows. “Seems to me you’re the ones who need help here. Maybe I want the meeting on my terms.”

“Yes,” she said. “It does seem that way, doesn’t it? And that’s why you’re going to meet at the ‘dome. Oh, and one more thing,” she added. “The Marshall will handle all of the details, but he won’t think of this one, so you’re going to add it on yourself. Whatever monetary agreement you come to, you’re also going to supply the ‘dome kitchens, with the pick of the port’s produce. Same food you get for your people.”

“ _That’s_ your one demand?”

“Mr. Chau,” she said, “there will be people in that ‘dome who don’t like you, and don’t like this deal, and I am of the opinion that the Marshall has had enough trouble in his life, and I like to minimize it. Whatever else it might be, a Shatterdome is a military base, and it marches on its stomach. If they know you’re responsible for getting them edible food, they won’t be able to find it in them to say a word against you. However much they want to. It’s just good business.”

She waited until they were back in the cab to let herself shake and hyperventilate. 

“That was good fun,” Kaidonovsky said. “Next time you are poking a gangster, invite me along, yes?” When Alison didn’t reply she looked over and noticed her minor breakdown and said, “Oh, my dear, you were spectacular! Come. Hug.”

Being hugged by a muscular Russian woman in a fur coat was nothing at all like the hug from her husband that she wanted more than anything, but it helped. It helped a lot.

When they got back to the ‘dome she sent Kaidonovsky home and then poked her head into the Marshall’s office. He wasn’t in, so she told his clerk to let him know that she had important news, and then went back to the apartment.

Tendo wasn’t in. She found herself standing in the center of the tiny living room, turning in circles, utterly at loose ends. Nothing seemed relevant compared to what she’d done that morning. Finally she noticed the pile of bags from yesterday’s shopping trip, still sitting behind the couch where she dropped them, and went to sort them into the bins in the closet where she kept her general stock.

Which meant that when the Marshall knocked on her door, she was holding a sweater. It was a vintage late 20th century wool cardigan, part of a box lot she’d bought at auction for Mako’s collection, but this one wouldn’t do for Mako. It was just the color of a PPDC officer’s uniform and it was a man’s button-up, with patch pockets. She’d been meaning for months to unravel it for the yarn, but hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it, because it reminded her so much of the sweaters her grandfather had worn when she was a girl.

“Here,” she said, and handed it to the Marshall. “You should have this.”

The Marshall looked tired. “Technician?” he asked.

“I got it for Mako, she’ll always take sweaters,” she babbled, “but it won’t do for her, it’s totally a dad sweater, you should have it. Oh!” she added, and blushed. “You want my report on Chau. I’m sorry, it’s been a day.”

“That would be nice,” he said.

“He’ll give us the money,” she said. “I think he’d’ve done it even without the financial incentive, he agrees with us on long-term strategy, but he’ll squeeze everything he can get out of you anyway. Talk to Dr. Gottlieb to get some numbers to fight him with. Chau’s people will call you within a week.”

Pentecost slumped momentarily, and then straightened up again. A load off his shoulders, immediately replaced by a larger one, she thought. “Thank you. Alison.” He said. “ _Thank you_.”

Five days later she was steering a half-asleep Tendo toward food when they both saw the Marshall escorting a familiar, tackily-overdressed figure through the halls, accompanied by Kaidonovskys and minions. “Huh,” Tendo said. “That’s not one of his usual meetings, is it?”

Alison shrugged.

“What is he _wearing_?” Tendo added.

“Better not to ask, I think,” she said.

“No, I mean the Marshall,” he said.

Alison squinted. Instead of his usual pressed jackets, the Marshall was wearing the sweater she'd given him over the rest of his uniform. She wasn't sure what he'd had to do to let himself be someone who screwed with organized crime, but if it required that sweater she thought she approved. She smiled to herself, and steered her husband in the opposite direction. “Tendo,” she said. “Food. I want actual dinner with my actual husband for once.”

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I guess it can’t be anything too important anyway.”

“Probably not,” Alison agreed.


End file.
